


Reflection

by shuhannon



Category: Mulan (1998), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M, Inspired by Mulan (1998), Kylo Ren Redemption, Make a Man Out of You (Mulan Song), Redeemed Ben Solo, Rey Needs A Hug, Reylo Summer Fic Exchange
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-29 08:06:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20432267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shuhannon/pseuds/shuhannon
Summary: “Why are only men sent to battle?” A seven year old Rey asked her guardian, a large foul smelling man by the name of Unkar Plutt. “Why can’t the women fight too?”He had laughed, had sneered at her, showing off the yellow rotting teeth that filled his mouth. “Because women are weak. They are to stay at home, cooking, cleaning and raising children where they belong.”***A Star Wars/Mulan crossover





	Reflection

**Author's Note:**

  * For [erney007](https://archiveofourown.org/users/erney007/gifts).

> This is written for [erney007](https://archiveofourown.org/users/erney007/pseuds/erney007). The moment I saw 'Mulan' as one of your prompts, my brain was swimming with ideas. Reylo fits so well into the plot of Mulan (after all, Rey and Mulan are both bad asses who need to save their confused men) and it was fun to rewatch the movie for the first time in ages.
> 
> I hope you enjoy the first chapter! <3 
> 
> Thanks to (secret beta) for beta-ing this for me!

The world had been fighting for longer than Rey could remember. There had not been a time in her life where food hadn’t been rationed, soldiers hadn’t trasped through village after village, their faces somber and their armor battle worn.

Letters arrived either in feast or famine. Sometimes, it felt like day after day, news of safety or death flooded the tiny village post office. Other times, it would be weeks, months even before families received word. Usually, those letters were scarce, full of very little hope, the pages crumpled and stained.

“Why are only men sent to battle?” A seven year old Rey asked her guardian, a large foul smelling man by the name of Unkar Plutt. “Why can’t the women fight too?”

He had laughed, had sneered at her, showing off the yellow rotting teeth that filled his mouth. “Because women are weak. They are to stay at home, cooking, cleaning and raising children where they belong.”

His answer, like most of his answers, left Rey with an unsettled feeling deep in her gut. Because it didn’t make any sense. Women were strong. The women in her village carried sheet after sheet of metal through the desert, in hopes it would fetch a fair price to feed the hungry mouths at home. Rey watched women patch their homes after sand storms, and trying to farm in the hot, dry terrain. Rey saw women break the news to their children, the most awful news that their families would never be while again because their fathers were not coming home. As their children wept, their tiny bodies shaking with a grief they could not yet process or understand, their mothers and aunts and grandmothers stayed strong, kept their heads held high and their arms held steadfast to their families, allowing them to whether yet another hardship.

Women were strong. Women could fight. And yet… women could not be sent to war?

“You’re a man.” Rey had questioned next, her voice nonchalant as she scrubbed and scrubbed at a piece of scrap metal. “You’re not being sent to war.”

_ Because Plutt was weak _ , her mind told her.  _ Because he is afraid. _

“I fought in the last war.” His words were abrupt and gruff. Rey could see the way he was scrambling, trying to come up with an excuse. “I served my time.”

There was a pause. The only noise that filled the pawn shop was the sound of coarse bristles moving against rusted metal. And the tiniest of snorts from Rey. 

“Get back to work, girl.” Plutt snarled, chucking a wrench in her direction. Quickly, she ducked, the hard tool barely grazing against her shoulder. She scrambled, scrubbing with all of her might, willing the rust to fade away and working until her skin was red and raw.

Little changed as the years went by. Rey grew older. She was tall, but still lean from irregular meals. Her fingers had grown more calluses and her skin grew tan from being out in the relentless sun. More freckles appeared, a sprinkling over the bridge of her nose and on the top of her shoulders. There were more scars too, burns that didn’t heal right from trying to solder junk into something that could be sold at too steep of a price. There were other scars too, ones unseen under her skin. The bruises that never healed from Plutt’s rough grasp and swift back hands, cracked ribs from when she put up a fight.

The war carried on.

Jakku, at one point, had been a thriving trading post. Now, it was considered nowhere. Even the desperate ignored it. The rebels fled elsewhere, rather risking being caught by the First Order than to try and survive in Jakku.

The men who had gone off to fight long ago never returned. The letters stopped coming, as the First Order held onto the upper hand.

As a child, Rey had wished for the war to stop. Surely her father was fighting in it. If the war stopped, then he could come back; could swoop in and save her from this terrible place.

She didn’t remember much about her parents. Just tiny fragments, little slivers of memory that she played over and over in her mind so many times that figment had become fact and fact had turned into figment.

She remembered a woman and a man, remembered a promise to come get her, that they would be back.

Her father was off at war. All good men had gone to fight. And her mother… her mother had followed her father, their love too strong that even war could not separate them.

At least that’s what Rey had told herself, her small body cold and her stomach aching with hunger.

When the war ended, her parents would return.

Except the war didn’t end and no one came looking for her. 

***

“Get dressed.”

Rey had barely lifted her head when a piece of cloth was being flung at her face. It smelled of moth balls and piss. Quickly she yanked it away, ignoring the bike that formed in the back of her throat.

“Maker, what is this?!”

“Your dress.”

Her brow furrowed in confusion. “My  _ what _ ?!” She was already dressed, wearing the same pants and tunic that had many moons ago been white but now had been caked with so much dirt and grime that she camouflaged perfectly into the dessert.

Plutt growled. “Don’t make me repeat myself, desert rat. Wash the stench off of you, too. We’re going into town.”

The color began to drain from her face. Instantly she was scrambling, moving as fast as she could towards Plutt’s retreating form. “No- no, you  _ promised. _ You said I was worth more to you here.”

Her guardian turned swiftly on his heel. Rey was still moving too fast, her legs still propelling her forward in panic. She tried to stop, but instead ran right into his rotund belly, the force causing her to stumble and fall.

She landed hard on the dirty floor of the shop. Yet Rey didn’t pay any mind to her sore tailbone. She was scrambling to her feet, eyes wide and her hands began to shake.

“We will let the matchmaker deem how much you are worth.”

***

It was archaic and barbaric, a rite of passage rooted so deep in tradition that it was deemed impossible to change. The matchmaker, usually an older woman who had never been married and yet was to assign women and men to one another in a bond that was to last their whole lives.

Plutt always said he would never sell Rey off through the matchmaker. He always said she was better use to him as free labor at the shop, than whatever match could be made.

Rey should have known better than to trust Plutt. After all, when was the last time he had told her the truth? When was the last time he had ever kept to his word?

She refused to cry. She refused to allow the lump in her throat to turn into anything remotely close to a sob. Rey was going to be tough and strong. Rey was not going to allow this to tear her apart.

So she did as she was told.

Her body was moving on autopilot as she tried to wash the years of dirt and grease from her skin in the cold, dirty water that filled the washroom basin. She yanked a battered comb through her hair, working through the multitude of knots. Rey scrubbed her cheeks until freckles could be differentiated from grime, until her skin was rubbed pink and raw.

It was the cleanest Rey had been in years. She didn’t even recognize the girl staring back in the mirror.

“Keep your back straight,” Plutt barked at her as they rode side by side into town. “Don’t speak unless spoken too. Do everything you’re asked.”

Rey remained silent, her jaw clenched tight and her gaze locked firmly ahead.

“Don’t think about playing any games either. If you fuck this up, you’ll just be placed with a horrible match. You better try your damn best if you want this to turn out fine.”

She wanted to run. She wanted to turn and flee, taking her horse and riding off into the sunset. Surviving in the desert would be better than this. Dying in the desert, would be better than this.

The matchmaker’s house was bustling with activity. They were being primped and prodded, dressed and painted like china dolls. Their mothers and aunts, grandmothers and sisters were with them, holding their hands and whispering words of advice or encouragement.

Hope was in the air.

Rey wanted to vomit.

“Get inside.” Plutt ordered as Rey dismounted from her horse, her hands still gripping the reigns as if it was her life line. 

Her feet remained rooted to the spot, her heels digging into the sand.

She couldn’t do this. 

She  _ wouldn’t  _ do this.

But what other choice did she have? Plutt was her guardian, her caretaker. He had control of her life, could sign it over to any other man that he deemed worthy. Which in Plutt’s eyes meant anyone that could pay.

He was right, though. If Rey messed this up; if she spilled tea and looked a mess, if she was rude and vile then that didn’t mean she was free. No, it just meant the matchmaker would give her the worst match.

One more terrible than Plutt.

Plutt, who mostly left her alone as long as she got her work done and bit her tongue.

A sharp shove to her back sent her forward. Plutt has leaned down, and his touch had been rough and unkind. Then again it always had been. That was okay. Rey would rather have a slap to her face than a hand on her upper thigh. 

Giving a small shake of her head, she forced one foot forward followed by the other. She could do this. She could manage this.

Instantly, she was ushered into a large bathing room. Her body was stripped and shoved into a large tub that smelled floral and sickeningly sweet. Once more Rey had to force the bile back down her throat, as the strong scent of artificial roses flooded her nostrils.

The women around her chatted happily, debating about who would be matched with who, and what prices the brides would go for. The upper circles had dowries, had livestock and money and jewels that the groom was paid in order to take his bride.

Out in Jakku, things were different. Every hand was a spare one, and during times of war all hands were needed on deck. Soldiers often wanted wives to send home, to help try and fill in the gap left in their absence.

And, in Jakku, where people were scarce and young women were the most rare, a bride could fetch a good price, like well-bred livestock.

It seemed washing up at Plutt’s had been useless. Dust and dirt was still being washed from her body. The water turned murky around her, as Rey stood upon command, a plush towel wrapping around her shivering form. She was ushered onto a stool where her hair was then dried, conditioned and plaited down her back. Her dirty, jagged nails were trimmed and polished. Her entire body now felt soft and was flushed pink from warmth.

Rey didn’t feel like herself, everything happening so fast she couldn’t begin to process it.

“You will fetch a fine match,” one woman cooed as she began to paint Rey’s face beyond recognition. “Smartest thing for Unkar to do, to set you up.”

She said nothing, didn’t even nod in acknowledgement. 

In their mind’s what else was Rey to do? She would either be forever in Plutt’s care, destined to struggle and work with barely a meal to show for it at the end of the day.

Or she would be married off, her fate unknown.

Either way, Rey had no say. She had no control. 

She could not tell you how much time had passed. She could not tell you how long it took for her to be primped and pampered and transformed. The next thing Rey knew, she was being ushered into a line with the other sweet smelling girls, as they stood and waited for the verdict to be made.

The matchmaker stepped into the room.

She was an older, short woman with tan, leathered skin and surprisingly kind eyes. Rey had seen her around town here and there. Nonetheless, something about her commanded order and presence. 

The line of young women stood completely still. Maz Kanata looked them over one by one, her gaze scrutinizing every inch of their bodies.

You could hear a pin drop, the room was utterly silent. The air felt thick, the tension running high.

“Rey Niima.”

Maz spoke, her voice too loud in the small space. Hesitantly, Rey took a step forward, willing her fingers to stop shaking.

The older woman said nothing else, merely turned on her heel to disappear through the archway in which she had appeared. “Go, follow her.” One of the other girls hissed into Rey’s ear. Instantly Rey was moving, pushing herself forward, as she trailed after Maz into the darkness and unknown.

* * *

“You do not wish to be matched.” 

Rey winced at the bluntness of the words, grip tightening on the teacup that was clutched in her hands. What could she say? Maz hadn’t poised it as a question. No, it was a statement. There was nothing to deny, nothing to correct or protest against.

She stayed silent, brushing her thumb back and forth over the cool china, willing her breathing to steady and her heart to stop racing.

“You wish to remain with Unkar Plutt for the rest of your life? In his service?”

At that Rey shook her head, her gaze fixated on the steaming tea. “No, no not really.”

“Then you wish to be married.”

It was a natural assumption. The only other choice that a woman of Rey’s status in life granted her. Be indentured or be married. They were the same, to Rey. Both housed the same chains, the same lack of freedom. 

“No.” Her voice was firmer this time, and finally Rey lifted her gaze, meeting Maz’s eyes. “I want to be on my own.”  _ I want to be free. _

“How do you expect to do that, child?” Maz asked, leaning back in her plush chair. “You have no formal education. You’re an orphan, not certain of who your family is or what legacy they house. What other choice do you think you have?”

Rey’s lips were pressed into a thin, tight line. What else could she do? What else could she say? There was no other option. Marriage or Plutt. It was the cruelest of double edged swords. She was damned if she did, damned if she didn’t.

“What would you say if I told you there was a third option?” Rey’s head snapped up, her eyes locking with Maz’s. “It will be dangerous. It won’t be easy, but what if I told you there was another way?”

* * *

The sound of her heartbeat was echoing loudly in her ears. She stood in the washroom, a rusty pair of scissors shaking in her hand. She could do this. She needed to do this. This was her only way out, the only way she could regain control.

Snip. Snip. Snip.

Locks of brown hair fell with little effort, littering the floor and sink around her. Rey continued to cut, continued to trim away inch after inch. As her hair fell, Rey could feel the weight of her sentence being lifted. She could practically taste the freedom on the tip of her tongue, it was so close. 

It was the second time today that Rey did not recognize herself in the mirror. But, instead of seeing a painted doll ready for auction, she saw someone taking charge, taking control of their own destiny and freedom.

For the first time in years, Rey felt her lips curl into a genuine smile.

She made quick work, sweeping away the fallen hair before she returned to her bedroom. Her bag was packed, along with the little bit of food she had kept hidden from Plutt. 

The wind howled outside. The sandstorm was picking up. If Rey wanted to leave tonight, then she needed to go now.

There was no sentiment, no heartfelt goodbyes. Rey merely tiptoed past the sleeping form of her guardian; for once, grateful for the sound of his snores, which masked the noise of her footsteps. Slipping out the front door, Rey dashed across the sand towards the stables. Flinging her bag over the back of her horse, she swung one leg over, her hands grabbing the reins tight. 

She needed to move fast, she needed to keep going before she lost her nerve or before she was caught. 

“C’mon, BB.” Rey nudged the horse with the heels of her feet, and instantly BB sprung to life with a snort of hot breath. 

They rode off into the dark, going in the opposite direction of the swirling sandstorm. Maz had told her where she could find the Resistance Camp, and who to ask for in order to enlist. It was a three day ride to get to Tatooine. Rey had enough water for a day and a half, maybe two tops. She would need to try and find food, more than the stale bread she had stolen from the pantry.

This was still the best option. This was still worth the risk.

If she was caught… if they discovered who she really was…

No, Rey couldn’t think like that. She refused to.This was still better than marriage or Plutt. This was still the better choice.

* * *

Following Maz’s map had been relatively straightforward and easy, despite the harsh desert conditions. But she had lived in this desert for most of her life. Her body was used to the relentless heat during the day and the way the temperatures dropped when the sun set. Three days was all it took for Rey to wander out of the dry, harsh desert and cross over the state lines into Savareen.

Much like Jakku, not many went to Savareen. Apart from being known for its beaches and brandy, there was too much unsettled politics. Petty crime lords were constantly fighting and battling with the locals for control of the coaxium refinery, it’s only source of prophet.

Apparently, the Resistance had also set up camp there, staying low and seeking able bodied men to recruit.

Sure enough, on the sandy beaches there were tents set up, while men loitered about, signing their loyalty and lives away in the name of the Resistance.

Rey dismounted her horse as she reached the outskirts of camp. Tying his reigns around a stone spyre, she ran a reassuring hand over the top of his muzzle. “I’ll be alright. I’ll be right back. You stay here.” The copper and white horse exhaled a puff of hot air in response, along with a whine.

Turning, Rey set off towards the encampment. 

_ You can do this _ , she told herself.  _ You can do this. _

* * *

The line for recruitment had been so long, especially given the desolate area. It seemed men had flocked to Savareen, ready to join the war and do their part.

Rey had never seen so many people gathered in one spot, had never seen so many men. To think this wasn’t the entire army; that this was a mere fraction of Resistance soldiers. It made her stomach lurch, thinking of how the First Order had more. 

Now the sun was beginning to sit. The soldiers were loitering about, finishing up dinner or huddled by various campfires, everyone eager and on edge to see what tomorrow would bring. Rey had placed herself on the outskirts, a makeshift tent strung between two pyres. BB had been fed and Rey was picking at the bowl of gruel. For the first time in her life, she didn’t feel hungry. Her stomach was tied in too many knots to eat.

“Where are you from?”

Filling out the paperwork had been what Rey had been dreading the most. All the questions she would need to field. “Stick with the truth as close as you can,” Maz had advised. So Rey had done just that. She was Ray, an orphan from Jakku without any family who was looking to make a difference, to serve

“Hello? Cat got your tongue? Where are you from?”

A hand was suddenly being waved in front of her face. Instantly she blinked once and then twice, shaking away her thoughts. 

“What? Oh-” Quickly she cleared her throat, dropping the pitch of her voice down an octive or two. “Sorry. Jakku. I’m from Jakku.” Lifting her head up, Rey saw a dark boy roughly around her age, with a kind, albeit nervous, smile. 

“I’m Finn.” He was extending his hand to her now. 

“Ray.” She shook his hand in return. The name had been her only slip up, the one flaw of her plan. Of course swapping out an ‘e’ for an ‘a’ wasn’t 

“Are you nervous about tomorrow?”

Rey hesitated, chewing on her bottom lip. She wasn’t here to make friends. The closer she got to the other soldiers, the more likely her secret would be discovered. 

But she was so tired of being lonely; of not having anyone to talk to. Of not having anything that remotely resembled a friend.

“Absolutely. What about you?”

* * *

“I expect perfection.”

The booming voice of their captain could be heard throughout the crowd of assembled soldiers. Rey felt a chill travel down her spine at the deep baritone. She kept her back straight, her shoulders square and her gaze fixated forward. He was large. Not just muscular and strong, but tall with a broad back and a commanding presence.

“One mistake is all you need to make to sentence yourself to death. The First Order will not hesitate to strike to kill. The First Order will not show you slack or mercy. One slip up, one wrong move could be the difference between life and death.”

“They called him Kylo Ren.” Her eyes darted to her left, where Finn stood, his voice hushed. “He used to be one of them, part of the First Order.”

Even in Jakku, Rey had heard rumors of Kylo Ren. The man in the mask who was responsible for the destruction of numerous villages; who was to blame for hundreds of lost lives.

“What is he doing here?” She hissed back, her grip tightening on the wooden staff each trainee had been given that morning after breakfast.

“His father is Han Solo. You know the war general? His mother is royalty and his uncle is-”

“Luke Skywalker.” Rey murmured back. She had heard of the man, the legend really, who was responsible for the fall of the Empire.

“I guess he saw the error of his ways. He’s trying to make it right.”

* * *

Rey thought she knew hard work. She thought she knew what it meant to go to bed, your body aching, bruised and tired.

Clearly she knew nothing.

Ben Solo trained them hard. He had demanded perfection on their first day, and it had been no exaggeration.

“Again,” He snapped, tossing the wooden staff back to Rey, who barely caught it before it smacked her in the face.

Beads of sweat pooled on her skin, stray wisps of her cropped hair sticking to her forehead, cheeks and the back of her neck. 

She wanted to argue; wanted to point out that she would perform better if she could just get a drink of water or a moment to catch her breath.

“The First Order are not going to wait for you,” Ben retorted, almost as if he was reading her mind. “They do not care if you’re tired. They do not care if you’ve been fighting for hours. They will slaughter you.”

Rey let out a feral growl, racing towards Ben, urging her legs forward and trying to use every ounce of her strength.

Except she was no match for him.

He knocked the staff from her hands with ease, before jutting his arm forward and slamming Rey to the ground. The impact jerked the oxygen from her lungs and she rolled over onto her knees, gasping in an attempt to catch her breath.

“Get up.”

Rey ignored him, still gulping at air, her vision clouded with stars.

“I said,  _ get up _ .”

“Give him a break!” Rey barely registered the voice of Finn from the sidelines, where he had been sparring with Captain Dameron. “Let him catch his breath.”

“Get up, recruit.” Ben towered over her now, his wide form casting a shadow over her body. Her eyes were watering, her entire body protested as she tried to stand, legs shaking like a newborn calf.

She had barely stood when pain shot through her legs. The staff. Ben had hit the back of her knees with a staff, sending her falling to the sandy beach.

“Never turn your back on the enemy.”

Her head snapped up, her teeth clenched in pain and her cheeks flushed with anger. Ben was still towering over her, wearing nothing but black training pants, his chest bare and glistening with sweat. Quickly she averted her eyes, as once more Rey tried to stand.

With shaky knees and a hunched back she stood, her feet unsteady on the sand. 

But she stood. 

* * *

The sparring matches weren’t even the worst part of the training. They shot arrows, aiming for makeshift targets painted on the base of palm trees. They ran up and down the beach, waves lapping at their feet and buckets of salt water balanced on either side of the wooden staffs that they carried across their shoulders. 

Every evening, Rey collapsed in her tent, her body protesting with every tiny move. She was used to hard work, but this? Rey could not have imagined this.

“You are to assemble swiftly, silently and promptly every morning.” Ben was barking at the recruits. 

“Says the captain that was late,” A tan recruit with curly hair muttered the sarcastic comment, a cheeky grin on his face. 

“Thank you for volunteering, Dameron.” A sneer stretched across Captain Solo’s pretty plush mouth. On anyone else, the expression would have contortured their face into something ugly. On Ben, it merely made him look more intriguing.

Rey subtly shifted her weight from one foot to the other, trying to keep her eyes fixated straight ahead rather than on the way the captain pushed his dark curls from his eyes.

There was a murmur throughout the crowd, and Rey found her gaze once more drawn back to Ben Solo.

Who now had an arrow poised in the quiver, aimed at Poe.

Poe Dameron was brave, dashing and daring. His reputation preceded him amongst his fellow soldiers. Mostly everyone wondered what he was doing here, a recruit in the middle of a training camp.

Then he opened his mouth and it became quite clear what had gotten him into trouble, despite his solid track record.

Poe, at least, had the sense to look slightly startled. Then Ben was aiming the arrow elsewhere, before he released the bowstring and the air went flying through the air in a graceful arch, until it met its target, the top of a tall wooden post that had been erected the night before.

“Retrieve the arrow.” Ben barked, his arms folded across his chest. Once more Rey had to divert her gaze from the bulging muscles of his bare chest and arms.

A hush fell over the group as Poe stepped forward, rolling his sleeves, his eyes fixated on the arrow at the top of the post.

“Easy,” came his response followed by a nonchalant shrug. Poe rolled his neck from one shoulder and then back to the other as he approached the post.

“Not so fast, Dameron.” Ben’s voice sent a chill down her spine, something about his deep baritone mixed with the way he barked the order, demanding everyone’s presence.

Solo’s assistant, a proper man by the name of Threepio came walking forward, his gait short and shuffled. He held a wooden box that seemed heavy by the way the man’s arms kept dipping down with every step.

Ben flipped open the lid, and pulled out two heavy weights attached by a thick strap of fabric. 

“This,” He began to say, handing off the medallions one-by-one to Poe’s unexpecting hands. “Represents strength and this represents discipline. You need both to reach the arrow.”

That cocky smirk was playing across his lips again, as Ben stepped back, motioning to Poe and the waiting post.

In contrast, Poe looked like he was seeing sparks.

“They’ve known each other since childhood,” came Finn’s usual commentary. She didn’t bother to ever ask where or how he got his information. “Solo’s parents took in Dameron after his parents died. They’ve been at each other’s throats since.”

Dameron was strong. He was a fast thinker and quick on his feet. But Rey noticed that he did better on horseback than with two feet on the ground. He knew his strengths and he kept to his lane. In one way, it was admirable, knowing your limits.

On the other hand, it made for a very one-note soldier.

It would be a lie to say it wasn’t painful to watch Poe try and climb the very smooth post. There was nothing to grip, nowhere to get a good fitting. Every time he inched forward, it seemed he slid a good foot back down towards the ground. It was after the fourth time that Poe hit the ground hard, that Ben loomed over the other man, arms still crossed and an air of superiority about him.

No words were exchanged. Ben just took the weights, lifting them high as he turned to face the assembled soldiers. “Who's next?”

By the time the sun began to set, the arrow remained at the top of the post.

No one had come even close to retrieving it.

* * *

Water sloshed out of the buckets she carried, hooked to the wooden staff that went across her back. They had been at this for hours, non stop drills and exercises, barely given a moment to breathe let alone take a sip of water.

Everyone it seemed was improving… everyone except for Rey.

_ You are weak, _ a voice in the back of her mind said.  _ This is why your parents did not want you. This is why Plutt wanted to marry you off. _

_ You are a woman, a weak, useless woman. _

She stumbled, falling to her knees in the sand, the weight of the staff feeling too much under her sunburnt skin.

Get up, she told herself, gritting her teeth. Get up. Stand.

Finn had stopped, a few paces ahead of her.

“Ray-” he moved to turn, only stopping as Rey gave a small shake of her head. He shouldn’t get in trouble, he shouldn’t be punished because of her.

A shadow overcame her, shading her face from the relentless heat of the hot sun. 

Captain Solo.

He said nothing to her. He didn’t need words. The look of disgust on his face said it all. Effortlessly, he took the staff off of her back, adding it to his own before he returned to jogging past the other recruits to resume his place at the front of the pack.

Rey sat in the sand, feeling tired and broken, feeling defeated and lost.

* * *

The sun was setting by the time she showed her face in camp again, only to be greeted with the sight of her bags packed onto BB’s back, his reigns in the hands of Ben.

“You’re done,” He thrust the reigns into Rey’s shaking hands. “Go home.”

Anger swelled in her veins, mixed with sadness and desperation. She couldn’t go home, not now, not like this.

This was not how this story was to play out. This was not how things were supposed to end.

“No-” She choked out the word, angry tears threatening to fall from her eyes. She willed them away, urging the lump in her throat just to disappear. “I can’t- You don’t understand-” Rey darted forward, grabbing hold of Ben’s arm. She tugged hard, and he turned on his heel, fury in his eyes.

“I said you’re through recruit. Go  _ home. _ ” The words were spoken through clenched teeth, as he jerked his arm from her grasp as if he had been burned. 

“I can’t,” Rey argued, shaking her head, taking another step forward. “I don’t have a home. I can’t- This is all I have.”

“That isn’t my problem.” The fire was being replaced with cold indifference, as if Ben was washing his hands of her entirely. He paused, and for a moment Rey thought he was going to say something, give her even a kernel of hope. Except he was turning, offering Rey nothing more than the sight of his retreating form.

A noise of frustration bubbled from her throat, and quickly she turned, wiping quickly at her eyes. 

That’s when she saw it.

The post, standing smug and tall, the arrow still stuck at the very top.

She could do this. She  _ had _ to do this.

* * *

The sun was beginning to rise. Her shirt was sticking to her back as beads of sweat kept rolling down off of her forehead, the salty droplets stinging her eyes.

Rey continued to climb.

She ignored the way her body protested against every inch forward. She ignored the feeling of splinters in her skin. The only thing that mattered was how she moved forward. Even when her foot slipped, even when the medallions seemed to be hindering opposed to helping.

Rey gripped the post with her legs, looping the weights around one another as she climbed another few inches further.

Almost there… she was almost at the top… Just a little bit further…

Ben Solo was coming out of his tent the moment Rey found herself perched on top of the post. She wriggled the arrow free, tossing it to the captain’s feet. 

His head snapped upwards, a look of shock crossing his features.

“I stay.” Rey called down, tossing the weights down to join the arrow.

He seemed to study the three things that now lay in the sand at his feet. 

And then…

“You stay.”

* * *


End file.
